


Summer Fancies in the City of Love

by DecemberBanana



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Bananas, Gen, I sent Len to France, Random & Short, School Essay - Freeform, Whimsical Nonsense, Written by Len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:45:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecemberBanana/pseuds/DecemberBanana
Summary: ___by Len Kagamine, Class 2-B





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to try this, hehe xD Sorry about the lack of actual Vocaloid characters.

The glorious afternoon sun gleamed on the bright yellow side of the little crescent champion. No one knew why it was there – rocking, swaying gently in the breeze, perhaps the forgotten leftover of someone’s lunch – basking there in the sun on the slightly rusted railing of the observatory platform, five hundred feet above the ground, gazing down on the shining squares of office buildings and cars like a thousand brilliant diamonds. The Seine wrapped serenely around the curb of the land, and meandered off into the distant horizon like a sleek path of forest-green. A tri-coloured flag swam gracefully in the wind, somewhere far below.

The banana sat there peacefully, until all of a sudden a gust of wind from the heavens sent it teetering… and then plummeting off the rail, from the top of the great Eiffel Tower, down, down towards mortal Earth.

The yellow zeppelin sailed through the air – streaming ribbons of wind behind it as it streaked through a stray piece of cloud. And, as with most crescent things, it tipped and began to spin, in neat, nimble circles, spurred on by a law of physics decreed by some long-dead physicist long ago – perhaps it was Einstein – round and round and round, like a yellow boomerang, unnoticed by the millions of people walking the Earth far below.

At some vague point, though, the boomerang began to slow down, as if tired of summersaulting, or as if it had finally found its target, and instead began to hurtle straight towards the ground, nose-down like a tiny fighter jet with its wings stuck tight to its sides. And it dropped steadily, a yellow stealth-bomber above the heads of all the unsuspecting tourists, cyclers, backpackers and lovers of Paris.

Ah, there – an elevator full of little girls in matching hats and petticoats, zooming past up and away.

‘I say,’ exclaimed a little girl with dinner-plate glasses, ‘What do you suppose that is?’

‘It’s a bird!’ said one.

‘It’s a plane!’ said another.

‘I believe,’ announced the smallest girl solemnly, ‘It’s a flying banana.’

‘What nonsense, Mesdemoiselles!’ chastised the austere headmistress. She turned to look for herself, with a dignified sweep of her skirts, and her eyes grew to twice their size.

In the meanwhile the banana continued to fall. The little glittering buildings grew larger… and larger.

Ah, there – a couple stealing a kiss behind the glossy window of a high-rise, over two glasses of champagne. What was that, glinting in the lady’s glass?

Ah, here – a fat grey pigeon, squawking in indignation as the banana hurtled past. The bird carefully alighted to a rain-washed steeple to watch the descent of the curious object in the sky, its soft feathers ruffled slightly.

Ah, down below – a little old woman in a worn brown beret, who’d sat there every day of the past forty-five years with her paintbrush and canvas.

And down, down, the banana fell, until –

– _Plop!_

With a surprisingly graceful landing, the yellow zeppelin dived nose-first into a small fountain in a small market square somewhere, perhaps half a mile from the Eiffel Tower, carried by the wind. Into the shadow of a marble angel, inlaid with wreaths of bronze. A slender column of water about three feet high rose and retreated after it discreetly, catching the glitter of the lax afternoon sun.

A pair of lovers looked up in surprise from their clasped hands as they sat by the fountain, and stared in wonder at the little yellow submarine bobbing at the bottom of the pool – slightly bruised, but otherwise sound.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, the old times. When this actually counted as an "essay"... (´-ω-`)
> 
> ... Just being nostalgic.


End file.
